Fear the Dark
by Ione
Summary: A rewrite of the movie Dracula 2000. Mary Heller has felt it all her life...the pull of the unknown, the darkness. Abraham Van Helsing has walked in fear of it all his life and with good reason. Soon, all their fears will be met.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, Dracula fans. I've been tossing this idea (and this chapter) around in my head for months, and I figured it was time to get it posted. I'm a fan of the concept of the movie, if not the way it was carried out, and I think a decent rewrite could do it much more justice. So, though this story starts out similar to the movie, it will divert quite quickly. Many of the characters (probably all the characters) are the same. I hope you enjoy, and please remember to leave reviews!

(New Orleans)

Mary Heller sank down to her knees beside her bed, picking up spilled prescription medicine. The bottle and the pills slipped through her fingers, and she fought tears and hysteria as she fumbled around the half dark bedroom, trying to get herself back under control. Finally she just slumped against the side of the bed and took her rosary off the nightstand.

"Holy Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ…"

Lucy, her roommate, half dressed and stumbling over her robe, tumbled into the room and stared at her.

"Mary! Holy shit, you scared me! Are you…" but her voice trailed off when her tired eyes took in the all-too-familiar tableau. Instead of muttering further invectives, Lucy sank to her knees and took her friend in her arms. "Come on, Mare, let's get you back into bed."

As was most often the case after Mary's night terrors, she was not in the mood to give any argument, although at any other time she would have had a few curses of her own to spout about being mothered in this fashion. As it was now, she allowed Lucy to tuck her in under the covers, and while Lucy fished under her bed for the lost pills and put the bottle back on her bedside table, she kept murmuring prayers to herself, counting on the beads of her silver-and-jet rosary. Tears leaked slowly out of her eyes as she replayed the scenes of her nightmare again and again in her mind.

"I'm going to get you some tea, all right?"

Mary nodded, and by the time Lucy came back with the soothing beverage, she was already asleep. Lucy sighed, left the cup on the nightstand, and made sure a nightlight was on in the hall before she left the room.

"Hello, this is Mary Heller, I need to schedule an appointment with Dr. Fuller for sleep analysis…yes, I'll hold."

Lucy, already dressed in cropped denim pants and her black "Virgin Records" t-shirt, was ready for work, and tapping her wristwatch in Mary's direction. Mary waved her off and tapped her pen against her teeth as she waited for the secretary to come back to her. Lucy smiled and poured herself a quick bowl of cereal, her blond ponytail bobbing as she moved from pantry to refrigerator to counter. She munched thoughtfully as Mary finished her conversation and hung up the phone.

"If you don't hurry, we're going to be late."

"I know, I know, I'll be changed in a minute."

Lucy considered her Cheerios as if searching for some divine sign, then decided to just go for it. "Mary, what do you think this is?"

There was a long moment of silence from the downstairs bedroom, after which Mary, looking painfully tired and wan, came into the kitchen and took a half-finished glass of milk from the refrigerator. She sat next to her roommate at the counter and nursed the glass for another long moment before replying.

"I don't know Lucy. Dr. Martin said I was sleep-deprived, the specialist she referred me to said I was borderline paranoid schizophrenic, and I don't know what this new one's going to come up with."

"Well, what do _you_ think?"

"_I_ think? You'd laugh at me."

"Please Mary, I won't. I'm just…getting really worried about you. You haven't had a good night's sleep in over two weeks, and every night, by your own admission, the nightmares get worse. And it's not as if your record was very good to begin with. You've had these nightmares for as long as I've known you, and even though you won't say, I _know_ it's been for longer than that. You're tired all the time, you're pale, and you're not getting any better. Do you have _any_ idea of what's wrong?"

Mary, at turns aggravated and sympathetic to her friend's concerns, finished the glass of milk and put it in the sink. She gripped the counter edge and didn't face Lucy as she answered.

"I think…my mother took me from place to place all throughout my childhood. We never stayed anywhere for more than two years, even when nothing was wrong. When she died, she told me…well, nothing too specific, but enough to make me uneasy, everywhere I've ever stayed."

She paused, and Lucy fought the urge to get up and force a faster confession. Mary shook her head, threw her shoulders back, turned around and smiled.

"We're going to be late, right? I'll tell you on the way."

Lucy tried to smile and put on her sneakers. "You infuriatingly mysterious Brit, you."

"Bloody impatient American."

"Yeah, yeah," Lucy put on her best southern drawl. "Let's get goin', gal."

The two girls stepped out into the thick, sultry New Orleans afternoon. The heat waves shimmered over the asphalt to the rhythm of the crickets shrilling in the marshes. As Lucy locked the door though, she noticed Mary shivering and chafing the bare skin of her arms, as though the icy chill that gripped her at night had not renounced its hold upon her. As they walked towards the Virgin outlet in downtown New Orleans, dodging tourists and teenage boys getting the jump on the night's booze, Mary continued her narrative, her cultured voice careful and cool in the darkening afternoon.

"My mother left my father when I was very young, and she never told me why, since to my knowledge she was never divorced before her death. She also never seemed to dislike or fear him, for any reason, but she was scared…no, terrified, of something. Something that she thought was coming for us, chasing after us. Somehow—and this I don't know for certain—this nameless follower was connected to my father. She didn't want me anywhere near him, and that always made me think that this…thing, was after me, personally. The only place she felt safe, or comfortable, was in the Church."

Mary's voice was shaking and full of hesitation. She also was incapable of meeting Lucy's eyes, which themselves had never left her face.

"Is that all you think?" Lucy couldn't help the simple question.

"_I_ think…I think my family has a terrible secret. If she confessed it to anybody, she would have confessed it to the priest. But as often as I go to him, he will never tell me."

"Well, that's a confidentiality thing, right?"

"Yes. I know, and he's probably right not to tell me." Mary's voice sank to a murmur. "It doesn't make things, easier, though."

They walked in silence, past a few of the rowdiest bars, where frank interest was displayed in the both of them. Lucy couldn't help, despite her serious concerns, returning some of the smiles and waves. Mary walked right past them, making her all the more sought after. With her honey brown curls, defined features, and softly athletic curves, she made a striking beauty. Lucy often teased her for hiding at home, especially since she, a self-admitted dime-a-dozen curvy blond, was often lost in the crowd without Mary's companionship.

Lucy, usually a notorious flirt, was so far from being in the mood today that she even forgot to lecture Mary about being a prude. Mary disliked bars with a passion, usually because she did attract so much interest, and she often favored more…intelligent conversation than was usually to be found with the common sot. As such, on a typical Friday night, while Lucy went directly to the bars after work, Mary went home and read, studied, or chatted with her few friends online.

Reaching the store, they both dropped their bags off in the staff room and punched in, greeting their co-workers and parting ways for the evening. Mary usually circled about the upstairs, where the older CDs were stored by genre, while Lucy, who had a much more complete knowledge of current releases, worked on the lower level, either in customer service or in the stacks.

Mary took a push-cart of CDs to shelve and started her evening's work, still thinking morosely about the nightmares, her life, and her family.

She had had them, truth be told, her whole life. Always she was in darkness, complete darkness, and for a while she wouldn't even know she was dreaming. She would feel aimless, drifting, without thought or reason, in the endless dark. A crippling feeling of impotency would surround her, a weightiness, almost physical, which pressed against her from all angles. Suddenly, she would realize that there would be someone else, with her, in the dark. A man, she knew, almost as intuitively, for there were certainly no indications, either by light or by sound.

And then, the rage would hit. She didn't know if it came from her or from that mysterious man, but it would be blinding. She would raise her hands and beat them bruised and bloody against the roof of whatever enclosure she was in. At the same time, the feeling of suffocation would hit, and panic, utter panic would set in. Her feet would push at the end of the coffin—she _knew_ it was a coffin—and she would feel the rage lending her strength. She would open her mouth to scream, to bite, to tear, to kill, and a terrible thirst would set in…

Usually the fear would wake her up. The idea of being possessed by emotions that were not any part of her was repugnant and terrifying. And then, there was the presence of that unknown man…

Mary took the CDs in hand and forced herself to put them on the shelves, mechanically and perfectly. Concentrating on making every row even, of alphabetizing albums by artist and by name, was a way of driving the presence out of her mind. In college and out, she had studied the theology of the Roman Catholic Church, mostly because the feeling of that man's presence, in her dreams and without, always reminded her strongly of demon possession. She always felt him with her…always felt that dreadful heaviness, that terrible and endless thirst.

She misplaced a CD on the shelf and it tumbled down to the floor, the clatter bringing her back to the world. She gasped and shivered, quickly bending down for the CD. The violent image on the cover made her feel sick. Sometimes she just hated…

Mary chuckled. What? Modern culture? Waking up? Falling asleep? Walking outside? Every step she took was chased, panicked, hunted, haunted…she wished she could just fight it, whatever it was! Mary's nature was to face down, to confront…a life led in the way her mother had led hers was incomprehensible. Mary resolved to go and visit her friend again after her work shift was over.

When the shift was over. Seven and—quick check of the watch—a half hours from now. Mary sighed and forcibly drove the images and emotions out of her mind, and concentrated on the CDs on the shelves. One after the other, the minutes ticked away.

(London)

Simon Sheppard was at once exhausted and elated. His two-week business trip to Scandinavia was finally over, and the warmer rains of Britain in late March were a welcome change from the ice that still gripped the northern regions of the world. He had made a few incredible finds, not the least of which he was on his way to show his employer. Besides which, he would finally see Solina again. Just thinking about her was enough to make his heart beat faster. All through that long and lonely trip, he had thought of her. Her soft brown hair, her brilliant eyes, her cool professionalism—so different from his impetuosity…there were a million and one reasons why he loved Solina.

"Good afternoon, Simon," she said to him, as he signed in with the security guard, "it's good to see you back safely." She handed him a roster of assignments, and turned to walk up the stairs to Van Helsing's office.

Of course, there was the catch, and the catch was, of course, that she didn't care one bit for him.

"It's nice to see you too, Solina." He said, following her up the stairs, heaving his bags along with. "Listen, are you free tonight? I thought we might go to a pub, or something…" Solina turned to face him, eyes impassive, "It's been ages since I've had decent food."

Her lips quirked. "I'm sorry, Simon. I'm not free, tonight."

Something about the delay between the last two words made Simon feel that she'd been about to say 'not free…at all' but he was used to that. She never encouraged him, but nor did she discourage him, and he couldn't help trying.

"Another time, then…maybe."

She smiled again (what passed for a smile, anyway) and motioned towards the door of their employer. "I know he's anxious to see you. I'll see you tomorrow, Simon."

"Right," he said, and she turned away before he could add anything else, heading to her office at the end of the hallway. "See you."

He sighed.

Matthew Van Helsing rose from the chair behind his desk and embraced Simon before the younger man was halfway across the room. Simon felt the warmth of homecoming in the older man's countenance…this was the only place that Simon had ever really felt at home. Raised by less than able parents, Simon Sheppard had made a real mess of his life before Matthew had found him pouring over archaeological research books in Juvenile Detention. After that, his life had turned around, with Matthew helping him through college and then giving him a job. As far as Simon was concerned, Matthew Van Helsing was his father.

After the warmth of greeting was over, they got down to business. Simon gave Matthew his sketch and notebooks, as well as the report of the stuff that was on its way, through slow ground shipping. However, there was one item that Simon had brought back personally, something that he'd never come across before. Unfortunately, that had meant he'd had to take the train, what with airline restrictions of weaponry, but that was worth it.

The heavy crossbow, he concluded, had been meant to fire shafts of metal, not wood. His original guess had been iron, but to what purpose, he could hardly guess.

"I've translated the markings…they're old Church Slavic, if you can believe it. _All fear He who walks under the crown of Eternal Night_, is my closest guess."

Van Helsing, holding the crossbow, shook his head. "It's not 'crown', impeccable as the rest of your translation is. It's 'halo'…you see the corruption of the character here obscured the marking…the two words are remarkably similar."

Simon leaned closer. "You're right. Well, I guess this one needs a little more clean-up work than I thought, but we can have it ready for market in a few weeks."

"No," Van Helsing's voice was abrupt. "No, this one I will keep."

"But that's the best of the lot!" Simon cried, "We could make a cool…"

"I know what it would bring," he interrupted smoothly. "But we already turn a tidy profit. Therefore, I may keep what I wish. This is an interesting find; I do not believe it was meant to fire iron, but silver."

Simon laughed. "Thinking of taking up the mantle of your forbear, eh?"

Helsing scoffed. "You know how much I dislike that talk, Simon! Goodness knows why Stoker decided to put my poor grandfather into his book, but I assure you I am not anxious to take up that responsibility! But the inscription is historically interesting. I will do the restoration work on this myself. And now, boy, I think it's time for you to go home."

Simon shrugged. It was more than it was worth to argue with the man. "I am knackered. I'll see you tomorrow, Matthew."

Simon smiled when he heard Helsing's distracted 'goodnight'. He didn't doubt the old man would have the thing cleaned and prepped by tomorrow morning. He was slightly disappointed that they wouldn't sell it, though. It would make a good addition to a museum. But Matthew was right…he kept precious little of the material they gathered, and he deserved whatever caught his fancy.

He did keep an interesting collection. One was an early repeating revolver with bullets of silver, another was a cross with a dagger at its base, and (his personal favorite) was a hollow crucifix obviously meant to hold holy water.

Matthew might not want to admit it, but he had a serious obsession with his family history, in all its mythological aspects. Simon chuckled. The old coot was just too stubborn to admit it!

(Crypt)

In the darkness, he felt the familiar thirst, the familiar lust. He felt them, walking above him, careless of him, alone in the crypt. Helsing…Abraham Van Helsing. His throat was dry and he felt his fangs lengthen. How he longed to sink them into the bastard's throat! He'd take back all the blood that had been stolen from him, the blood that even now was taken slowly from his veins by the leeches.

What a glorious moment that would be! One bite, one quick snap, would give him all the life he'd been denied…all the time that he'd spent, in impotent fury, trapped in this grave.

It would set him closer to one other thing as well…the life he'd sensed coming into the world, growing older…the one he could see when he closed his eyes and sent his spirit wandering to seek those of his blood (so precious few, now!). Mary. Mary, Mary, Mary…her blood sang her name. From across the world, he could feel her, taste her, feel her spirit.

The dryness in his throat became torturous. His fangs longed to bite deep into her, as well, but not to empty her of life, and leave her dry and dead like her thrice-damned father. He wanted to drain her, have every taste of her living blood, and then give her back his own.

He thought of that almost as often as he thought of murdering her father.

He was immortal, and with immortality came patience.

Someday…and he felt, with preternatural awareness, that it would be someday soon, he would be free.


	2. Chapter 2

You're all lucky that I don't depend on reviews like lifeblood. It would be nice to receive a few more, though! Come on, people, if you read and enjoyed it only takes two seconds to type that simple message into the blue box at the corner of your screen! Onwards and upwards, though…and thanks, Leah Day.

(London)

Solina signed off on the last of the rosters in her office and filed them neatly in her outbox. She checked the time. 6:15. Simon was already gone…he left promptly at five everyday, and van Helsing was secreted in his office, as he generally was between the hours of six and seven. She checked her security screen again while she punched out. Working late, getting the newest manifest ready to send to the museums.

All she needed to do was leave the building, so the security guards saw her, and at 6:30 Marcus would make his move.

She gathered her purse and waved 'goodbye' to the two guards who watched the lobby, and left Carfax Abbey. As she did, she noticed Trick, standing across the street, spinning the billy club of a London policeman. She stopped at the base of the stairs and checked her watch, the 'go-ahead' sign to her associate.

He nodded and started to cross the street, while she continued down the road, turning swiftly into the alley where the rest of the crew were waiting.

Smiling freely, she greeted her lover with a kiss. "It's on."

(Abbey)

Matthew set down the old crossbow and locked the door. Pouring himself a glass of wine, he moved to the center of the room. God, but he felt old. Hell, he _was_ old. No time to waste in regrets or whining, though. He'd chosen this path…what other one could he have taken?

Looking on his desk, spread with the latest trails of his everlasting research, he reflected on that last thought.

He could have stayed with his wife and daughter, abandoning the quest to someone fitter. His system had proved adequate for containing the immortal beast…was his whole life to be a trial of penance self-invoked?

Matthew (Abraham) shook his head. Continuing that trail of thought would be painful and futile, as he _had_ made his decision and now had to live with it. And live he would…and live, and live, and live.

Touching the hidden button on his chess set (it had cost him some effort to vandalize the lovely piece) the center flipped open and revealed the latest harvest of leeches. Watching them writhe around in the preservative fluid, he felt the familiar rush of distaste and nausea, and quickly swallowed some wine for Dutch courage. So ironic that he used nature's vampires to harvest off his very own vampire!

He stripped the plastic wrap off the clean syringe and drained the blood from one of the bloodsuckers. Taking a deep breath, then, he raised his sleeve, where the strange wounds made from injecting the cursed blood had made their marks on his skin, peeling away into blue and purple veins. Into the newest of these he inserted the needle, and felt the strange rush of emotion…the rage, the thirst, the claustrophobia…the immortal sadness.

It was the last of these emotions that truly confounded him. Why should a creature of evil carry such a burden of sorry with him?

As the blood took hold in his veins, he felt his heart beat faster, with the strength of stolen youth, and the aches of arthritis and weakness in his bones faded away. Although he hated the source of his fountain of youth, he had to admit that the benefits were not to be sneezed at.

But he always burned the corpse of the leech and the syringe.

While the blood worked its way through his bloodstream, he returned to his desk and started again on the endless, winding trails of the Dracula legend. Lately (as in the last forty years) he seemed to be going around in circles. However, by now, he was fairly certain that he was not dealing with the same old Vlad Dracul of legend. Several of the other popular theories which he had extensively researched did not seem to work either.

He just had to keep at it. Something would present itself eventually. An answer he had missed, a path left unexamined…

(Lobby)

It took two seconds for the guard to hit the ground when the noxious gas sphere exploded in his face. This gave the guard at the security panel another few seconds to hit the alarm. He didn't use those few seconds, as by that point, he too was on the floor.

Trick shed the stupid helmet of London's finest and started to hack the system. Nightshade, Dax, and Eddie were already dragging the bodies and taping them, binding their hands with plastic wire.

"Move," Solina said, from the staircase as she verified that Helsing was still behind closed doors.

"Move _and_ think," Marcus corrected her, "Come on."

The door to the locked vault lifted on silent hydraulics. "Nice, Trick," 'Shade said, clapping him on the back.

Solina played the tape recording while Marcus took care of the fingerprint verification and retinal scan. Within half a minute, the great vault was open, and Trick took care of the automatic alarm, silencing it before it even went off. Clockwork.

Once inside the vault, though, the entire group fell silent. Even Solina, architect of the grand plan, seemed lost. A damp expanse of cold concrete, full of moldering tapestries and ancient pottery. Even to the seasoned thieves they all were, the first room seemed a total wash.

"Come on," Solina's voice echoed oddly, "I bet it's farther in."

Dax scoffed. "Bloody _what's_ farther in? This is a waste!"

"Who puts the answer right at the beginning of the puzzle?" Solina shot back over her shoulder, from the next doorway. "This vault is huge!"

'Shade stopped at the next room. "_Fuck_…"

Even Marcus was shaken. This room was empty except for a series of niches in the walls, each one housing a strangely malformed human skull. The shape was all right, but all the mouths had two inordinately long incisors.

"She said money," Eddie groused, shying away from the walls, "she said _gold_!"

Solina stalked ahead, refusing to be frightened by the sheer weirdness of the place. "I said he guarded it like gold. I said I didn't know why. I said this was the best shot we'd have to make a real killing before we had to move. _Again_. Now come on!"

It was Marcus who made them move.

Room after room followed this one, all alike…there must have been over a thousand skulls set into the walls. With every room, the team became less and less cohesive, until finally only Marcus and Solina wanted to keep going.

"Screw it, man, I am _not_ getting any deeper into this freak show!"

Solina drew on him. "You will do exactly what we tell you to do!"

"Seriously, man, you wanna get paid?" Marcus glared Nightshade into obedience. "What do you think this is? It's fucking _brilliant_. The crosses, the skulls, the whole thing is some beautiful mindtrick designed to scare us off. Now, we are almost to the last room. You wanna be scared off by the boogeyman?"

"Guys?" Eddie was already looking through to the next room. "I think you might wanna come see this."

In this last room, a dead-end, the only object was a long, tarnished silver antique coffin. The entire group was silent.

"Get it open."

"I am not touching a coffin."

"Get it _open_!" Solina's voice held a touch of hysteria.

Dax, Eddie, and 'Shade went up to the thing, touching it timidly. Eventually, professionalism kicked in, and they started feeling for seams and weak spots.

"I think we're going to have to blow it. Thing's tighter than a damn safe."

Eddie countered. "No explosives. We could ruin whatever's inside."

"Fuck," 'Shade griped, "he's probably got his damn mother in there."

"Got it. I've got the seam."

As Dax moved to pry the seam with his fingers and crowbar, he slid the box across its elevated stone alter. The thing proved lighter than any of them expected, as it went crashing down on the other side, and Dax fell across the space where it had been. Immediately, alarms blared throughout the whole complex and Dax was impaled by solid steel spikes (steel…or silver?) spikes that shot down in a horizontal line on the dais.

Solina screamed, and Eddie and 'Shade leaped back when some of the warm blood splashed on them. Eddie jumped back a little too far, as he was caught by the spikes descending through the open doorway. More blood washed over the coffin and the people gathered around it.

"Shit!" Marcus swore as he wiped the blood from his face. "Find us a hole and blow it!"

Trick leaped towards the right side wall. "We should have the river on this side. We blow to the sewers, get out that way." He quickly unloaded his pack and started wiring the wall.

"I am not touching _anything_," 'Shade murmured, trying to get the blood off his face and hands.

Solina moved to the coffin, leaving handprints of blood as she lifted one end. "Marcus, then, help me!"

Together, they all moved into the dank sewers of London, to the river and…hopefully, freedom from detection.

(Above)

When the alarm went off, Matthew thought he was hallucinating. Standing quickly from the table, he removed the new crossbow from its stand and grabbed a handful of hand-smelted silver bolts. Descending cautiously to the second level, he noticed that both his guards were unconscious (dead?) on the floor near the entrance, and the crypt…oh, God, the crypt…was standing open.

How had he done it?

Of course, he hadn't. The corpses of two thieves were proof enough of that. But now he was free.

Matthew stood in the darkness and sighed.

"God help us all."

He had to get to her…before He did.

(Next Day)

Simon arrived at work on time, as usual, and was terribly shocked to see the crypt door standing open. It was _never_ open; Simon didn't even know what Matthew kept in there, but whatever it was, it was not for public consumption. He had always assumed that it housed Matthew's personal collection, but a brief glance into the first room corrected that assumption. A true weapon's display room would have had wall mounted stands.

There was nothing but some moldy fabric and broken shards of pottery.

What the hell was going on?

Matthew came walking downstairs with the two nighttime guards, both of whom seemed to be leaving. And not in the normal way, either. But neither of them met Simon's eyes as they left the building. Helsing locked the door after them and turned to face his young assistant.

"What's going on, what happened?"

"I was robbed, Simon. Everything from the abbey…they took it all!"

Matthew looked astonishingly older as he made that statement.

"Where are the police…why aren't they all over the place?"

"No…no." Matthew started to walk heavily back upstairs. "There is no need for that. The guards were not injured; I have compensated them well, and they understand my wishes."

"_I_ don't understand…"

"I tell you, I will have _no police_!"

Simon was startled by the uncharacteristic vehemence of his employer. "Matthew…" he slowed down when he realized that the old man was packing a suitcase, "what's going on? Where are you going?"

"I have some personal matters to take care of. While I am gone, the company will be closed…you will receive paid vacation, of course."

The distance in the man's voice hurt Simon more than he thought it would. "Good God, Matthew…confide in me. You always trusted me before."

There was the kindly light that he remembered. Matthew only smiled briefly, though. "I must go, and I must go alone. I cannot tell you, Simon…I am sorry."

He wasn't able to hide his passport as he swept it off the table into his pocket, though.

_Fine, Matthew. But you can be sure that I'm not letting you go by yourself._

(Airplane)

The blood he had absorbed into his system made him stronger. Strong enough to move his bound hands and crush the remaining leeches on his body. Strong enough to hear the arguments of those outside his prison. The language was loud, strident, and full of unfamiliar words, but he could tell it was still English. How many years had passed in his endless imprisonment?

No matter. He would discover that soon enough.

They were going to open his cage…they were going to release him…

If only he could muster enough strength to show them how to do so…

(New Orleans)

Mary Heller greeted the doctors as she made her way into the sleep analysis clinic, and sat patiently while they explained the numerous sensors they were going to hook her into before she tried to sleep. After changing into her nightgown, she assisted their placing the round, soft panels of sensors onto her arms, neck and temples. Once everything was up and running, they left the room, dimmed the lights, and Mary got down to the serious business of falling asleep.

Strange, though…tonight she had less trouble with it than most nights recently…

Or that's what she thought, until she woke up screaming.


	3. Chapter 3

Well, three reviews for the last chapter is an improvement. Oh well. Four reviews per chapter is pretty decent, so let's try to shoot for that this time. Anyway, thanks again to Leah Day and my new reviewer, Nightcrawlerlover. Evendia, you're the only reason why this chapter got out as soon as it did. Here's to you.

(Plane)

'Shade was the first to die. Marcus, Solina, and Trick gasped in horror as they looked down on the absolutely dry husk of their former friend. Standing above him, and God, it was impossible, was a man who had come from the coffin.

A man who had gone from corpse-like to god-like in approximately thirty seconds.

"Fucking _hell_, Shade!" Trick, the dead man's best friend, leaped across to the man, intending, stupidly, to kill him, if possible. Marcus and Solina both drew their guns, but could not get a good shot with their friend in the way.

"Trick, get back!" Marcus warned, but too late. The tall, black haired man had flung Trick to the other end of the cargo bay, laughing darkly. Everyone heard the sickening sound of his neck breaking with a wet crunch.

The tone of the man's laughter echoed deeply within Solina, pulling on a response purely animal. Usually only Marcus made her feel that way, but now…

Solina's moan was soft, but it carried in the cavernous expanse of the cargo hold. Marcus shot her a quick glance.

"Solina, you okay?"

The man's gaze was focused entirely on her, and he moved forward a step. Marcus fired.

"Keep away from us!"

To his horror, the man only slightly recoiled. Looking down on the bleeding hole in his chest, he seemed more curious than hurt. He reached up with two fingers and ripped the bullet from the wound, examining the cartridge closely.

Had Marcus been thinking clearly, he might have assumed that the man had never seen one before. But he was only thinking of taking him down, so he fired again. Deep into the stomach this time.

But though the bullet should have gone all the way through the soft flesh of the man's lower abdomen, it only penetrated an inch. So with another curious look, the creature tugged out the bullet and discarded it on the floor.

"Marcus, stop it! You're hurting him!"

She'd gone mad.

"Of course I'm trying to hurt him! He's killed Trick and 'Shade. _Fuck_, Solina, shoot him!"

"You cannot kill me. There is none who can."

Both of them turned. The creature was standing entirely at ease, regarding them both with an air, again, of curious detachment. He was not afraid of them at all…if there were an emotion gilding his features, it would be amusement.

Marcus snorted. "Take enough bullets, buddy, and you'll go down. Everyone does."

A deep chuckle, followed by a short breath from Solina. "But, my friend, I am most certainly not…everyone. Do you know who I am?"

"You're the fucking murderer of two of my friends. That's all I need to know."

His smile bared his two long incisors. "This is not all you need to know. Perhaps I spoke wrongly. Do you know _what_ I am?"

A finger of dread shivered its way down Marcus' spine. "What are you?" he whispered.

"When last I walked the earth they called me Dracula. But before that, of course, I had many different names. You are likely familiar with one of them. But 'Dracula' was immortalized in fiction, so I suppose it shall do just as well as any."

The creature's tone was now almost casual, and the English accent it sported only made Marcus think of a gentleman sharing an anecdote in a club somewhere. His fingers shook imperceptibly on his gun.

"You are _not_ from that coffin."

"Is that not where, according to the clever Stoker, where all vampires sleep?"

"There is no such thing as _vampires_!" Marcus shouted.

Apparently, the creature gave up on him then. He turned to Solina, who still stared at him with a look of almost frightening devotion.

"And you, child. Do you also share your associate's unfortunate stubbornness? Do you deny the evidence of your own eyes? Will you not consider the offer I am so graciously extending?"

"What offer?" Marcus was truly concerned about Solina's state of mind. Usually she was never so passive.

"Well," Dracula said, turning back to him, "it occurs to me that I need associates in my work. I have felt the numbers of my brotherhood dwindle, as I lay entrapped by that doddering old fool, and this cannot be allowed to happen. I could kill you."

Even Solina shivered.

"Or…I could give you life eternal."

Marcus lifted his gun again. "And live forever as your bloodsucking lackeys? Take your offer and shove it."

"Marcus," Solina whispered, laying one hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I don't want to die."

And she turned from him and put her hand in Dracula's.

Marcus yelled and fired, but it was too late. Solina's blood was already draining from her, and even a bullet in the shoulder didn't stop the creature. As the plane suddenly jerked, his next shot went wide and punctured one of the windows of the plane.

The bullet, of course, caused no explosive decompression, but that second shot that might have made the monster drop Solina took no effect. And now his lover, eyes glazed with the remnants of death and the overwhelming sensation of new life, stood next to Dracula and looked at Marcus with a frightening, ravenous expression on her face.

Dracula smiled down on her. "Take him."

He could not raise the gun to fire on Solina, and there was a tearing pain in his neck before everything went dark.

(New Orleans)

The dream was different. Of all nights, why did it have to be different _tonight_?

Mary was standing, and it was quiet at first, as usual. But not dark. No, there were definite glimmers of light reflecting off something metallic. As her vision cleared and sharpened (so much sharper than usual) she realized that she was standing in some sort of plane…but not a passenger plane. No, it was a cargo hold. Her very breath seemed to echo through the cavernous space.

For once, too, she felt no hunger. Though the dream had her firmly in its grip, she could feel enough to realize that the fear she felt was not His fear, but hers entirely…alone.

Where was he?

Mary decided to venture a bit further on her dream legs, and as she stepped forward, her foot encountered something warm. Looking down, she realized that she'd nearly stepped on a corpse, the head crushed at an awkward angle and the warm (still warm, God, he was newly dead) blood was now seeping around her toes.

Screaming, she jumped backwards, trying to get away from the contamination, from the death. But then she realized she'd just attracted it to her. The door on the other end of the space swung slowly open, and for the first time in her life…she saw him.

And though it was a dream, though all her logic screamed against it, as her physical scream choked in her throat, she knew that _he saw her too._

For a moment, there was silence in the cabin, as he stepped forward and swung the door shut behind him. He faced her, face nothing like impassive. On the contrary, while she knew her face reflected a kind of numb horror, his face showed nothing but a terrifying hunger, a passion that it seemed even his restraint (and God, she knew the limits of his restraint) could hold in check.

She shrank backwards a step, huddling against the cold of the bulkheads in search of an escape, wishing that she could just wake up, wake up, wake up…

"Wake up, wake up," she whispered, her eyes shut tight and her voice trembling as she cried her mantra.

When nothing but silence, dead silence greeted her, she thought that she'd succeeded, that when she opened her eyes the doctors would be concerned, but she'd be safe, she'd be away from him.

Mary opened her eyes.

He regarded her with that same look, closer now by half the distance.

"Mary."

Her name, from his lips. She shuddered, narrow shoulders shaking as she tried to force herself backwards again. There was nowhere for her to escape to. Her heart was beating so that the blood rushed chaotically all over her body; she could feel it rushing through her veins as her fingers shook uncontrollably.

Now he was close enough to lift one of her hands in his. The palm was warm, but the kind of warmth that was insubstantial, and Mary could already feel whatever life he had stolen already leaving his body. The word came to her unbidden, for she certainly had not known it before: vampire.

Clutching her one hand in both of his, he examined it minutely, while Mary could not find the strength to either pull away or stop the compulsive shaking. His eyes bled deep, deep red (they had been blue green before: the color of the sea) and he lifted her hand higher, and higher, while Mary's heart beat to burst and she knew that he was going to kill her, bleed her, drain the life from her and she was going to die of fear before the doctors could wake her…

But he slid her hand up the side of his face (skin so smooth, like a child's, like a woman's, not like a man's) until the palm of it rested in the curve of his ear.

And he listened. He listened to the blood rushing through her veins, slight smile spreading over his face as though he were attending a concert of his favorite composer. As he listened, Mary could not help but be consumed by a mixture of disgust, curiosity, and sheer adrenaline rush. When his mouth moved to the gathering of blue green veins (like the color of his eyes) on her inner wrist, she felt as though she might faint.

"I smell it…I feel it." His mouth trailed up the inside of her arm and up the side of her neck. "Mary, Mary…you are real."

The fear and his closeness and the power of his voice twisted painfully inside of her, and she finally gathered the strength to take her other hand and _shove_ with all her might.

Her blow caught him on the shoulder and unbalanced him, but it also unbalanced _her_, and she stumbled backwards and tripped over the body and she knew that he had her now and…

"Miss Heller! Miss Heller!"

But she was back, in New Orleans, tangled up in wires with tears running down her face.

(Home)

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But Mare, come on…"

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

Mary had not moved or spoken, beyond what Lucy could force out of her, that is, since she returned in the middle of the night from her sleep analysis meeting. She had marched in through the door, slamming it loudly enough so that Lucy, halfway through the new Marilyn Manson CD all the way upstairs, had heard her. Then, she slumped on to her bed, face to the wall, and had not moved.

Lucy, standing in her ratty pajamas, couldn't make sense of any of it. Throwing her hands up, she gave it up as a lost cause and marched to the kitchen to make herself some coffee. If it weren't for the coolness of the house, she might just walk out and leave her ridiculously emo housemate to fend for herself.

Halfway through that thought, though, Lucy knew that she was lying. Instead of making herself an enormous soup bowl of coffee, she poured out two mugs and mixed them both with sweetener and cream. Carrying one into Mary's bedroom, Lucy took the other and sat down against the wall.

"Whenever you want to talk, Mare," she murmured, staring at the other girl's blank face, "I'll be right here."

Mary's face didn't change, but she reached out for the coffee and wrapped her hand around the warmth of the cup. Tears gathered in her eyes, and when she blinked they trailed down the bridge of her nose.

"Thanks, Luce."


	4. Chapter 4

Wow! Finally, some interest! Thank you for your reviews, and I'm very glad you enjoyed. I really like writing this fic (although currently, living in Japan, there are quite enough distractions to keep me from writing) and I hope that you can be patient and wait for me to find an hour or two of spare time.

(New Orleans: Airport)

Matthew van Helsing had used all of his international clout as an ancient weapons dealer to get his revolver and crossbow, not to mention his solid silver dagger across the Atlantic. Finally, wheeling his weapons' case and bag of clothing after the endless problems with customs, he stepped out into the sultry New Orleans afternoon.

More troublesome than the hassles with the airline was the way that his age seemed to be catching up with him. The slightest exertion seemed unspeakably tiring, and he could feel his rheumatism flaring across his knuckles and lower back. He had lived so long without the fear of death and the sensations of age that feeling them again was frightening on a primal level. He might not have realized it at the time, when taking Dracula's blood had just been a matter of necessity, but now he realized that he was entirely dependent. Death frightened him. Age frightened him as well.

On the airline, he had only squeezed once into the cramped bathroom, and as he did, he had been horrified to see that his hair was dramatically whitened and that his eyes were a mass of wrinkles.

In such a short time…

As he hailed a cab, a deep hopelessness nearly overwhelmed him. There was no way that he could survive long enough to stop or recapture Dracula.

His only option was to go straight to Mary, so that she could take on the responsibility of killing the monster and saving herself. _Oh, God,_ he prayed, unable to lift his baggage into the trunk, _open her ears. Make her listen to me!_

Not ten meters from him, Simon Sheppard ordered the driver of his own cab to tail the other, maintaining a discrete distance. The driver was completely confused (and not a little bit amused) but was certainly willing to take what was certain to be a huge fare.

The two cars headed towards downtown New Orleans as the sun set slowly below the horizon.

(Bayou: Plane)

It had been a rough landing. When the pilot's throat had been slashed, of course, it only made sense that their descent would be slightly uncontrolled. Dracula shrugged and tracked the passage of the sunset across the floor of the plane. He disliked having to keep the man alive, but this sort of travel was new to him, and a good pilot was always a hard thing to find.

Next to him, Solina fidgeted, impatient for her first taste of night as a vampire. She certainly realized all the potential he had seen in her. Wantonly violent and entirely unprincipled as a human, her only shortfall as a vampire would be her unfortunate tendency towards impulsivity. Of course, he could curb that with a sharp order and a blow she would never forget. But he had been too little humored over the past however many years it had been, and watching her get herself into trouble would certainly be amusing.

Her erstwhile lover, as well, showed signs of adapting to his new life. After he had drained the man, Solina had pleaded eloquently enough for his life that he had humored her and poured a bit of his blood back into the empty husk. Marcus was more recalcitrant and certainly more willful (after all, he had commanded his own band of petty thieves) but again, this was nothing that he could not take care of.

Besides finding and turning Mary, his immediate plans included the rebuilding of his brotherhood, sadly diminished ever since he had disappeared. He felt his descendants still living, but in remote corners of the world, and he felt no new children of the blood…none younger than fifty years, certainly.

That could not continue. So, although in the past he had been selective as to whom he turned, and whom his children turned, now he could not afford such a luxury. Marcus would want to have his own band of vampires; let him. But Solina would never go with him again, and that would likely keep Marcus well within the fold.

Dracula smiled. From what he had understood from Solina (especially of the subculture seemingly obsessed with vampires) he held no doubts that this world would suit his needs better than the one he had left. Yes.

He was very much looking forward to what he would find when the sun finally went down. The first sunset of his new life.

(Bayou: Exterior)

Valerie Sharpe was tired of this job. Honestly, was it so hard to work your way up to the news desk? She had it all! Shiny blonde hair, teeth that had cost thousands of dollars to straighten and whiten, and a pair of breasts that women would sacrifice every ounce of personality for. Those, at least, had come naturally.

But her lovely clear skin wasn't going to last much longer if these damn bugs kept ripping it apart!

This settled it. When she got back to the main office, she didn't care whom she had to fuck, she was never going to come back to these godforsaken swamps again! She turned to the cameraman and snapped, "Let's just get this over with."

Said cameraman quickly took his eyes off her breasts and hefted his camera. "Yes, Your Highness," he muttered, and set the camera to roll. Usually he was okay with Valerie, but when she got pissy, man, watch out!

"This is Valerie Sharpe. Join me at eleven for my report on the bayou disaster, a fiery flight of death that ended in fear…"

He chuckled. She swore.

"This is Valerie Sharpe. Join me at eleven for my report on this fiery fright of death…_shit_!"

"Just relax, Val. We're the last ones here, there's no rush."

"There _is_ a rush. If these mosquitoes take any more blood out of me I'm going to dry up into a shriveled old mummy."

"And wouldn't that just make our ratings plummet."

She laughed. "Yeah, no one would be waiting to turn me on for anything. I may have the exterior of an airhead, but stupid I am not. You still getting the tits?"

He chuckled. "You bet I am. I may be a lowly cameraman, but I know what sells your stories."

Her smirk was predatory. "So do I. All right, let's wrap this up. Shoot."

"This is Valerie Sharpe. Join me tonight at eleven for my report—" and she _screamed_.

Looking through his lens, it was incomprehensible. Her head was sharply jerked back, and it looked like something was cutting a precision line across her jugular. But there was _no one there_.

He dropped the camera. And suddenly, there was.

There was nothing for a moment but a sudden and stupid burst of bravery. "Get away from her!"

As the monster (for what else could he be, he'd seen him _licking her blood_) turned his focus, he had a single moment to realize exactly how stupid he'd been before in a flash of movement too quick to process, he realized that he was dead.

Valerie didn't care what had made the guy (was his name Brian, or Brendan?) charge whoever had had her from behind. She only cared that there was time for her to wiggle loose and run for the van. She climbed into the insulated back and slammed the door, fingers trembling at the lock when she pushed it. There was something tickling on her neck, and she exhaled a shaky breath when she realized it was her own blood.

God, what the _hell _had that been?

She flipped on the exterior cameras and panned the area slowly, breath only hitching when she saw the cameraman's body lying limp in a wash of blood. Though she was not sad that he was dead (she barely knew him, after all), she was grateful. That would probably have been her…as she looked, his head seemed to tremble, shaking on the limp neck.

But however hard she searched, she could get no view of whoever must still be there.

Valerie took a few moments to get her breathing under control. She had to get the van's keys and drive away. The area was clear; she'd checked and double-checked. She could run to the dead man's body, get the keys from his pocket, and get the hell out of there.

It was a good plan. She was poised to slide open the side door when the back doors were ripped off their hinges.

Standing there was a woman, blood streaming from her open mouth and running down the front of her white lab coat in a hideously macabre display. Valerie screamed when the girl reached for her, and opened the side door, making a sprint for the body.

But there, leaning over the body, one hand holding the neck in a vise-like grip, was another man. Black, this time, he raised his head to stare at her, blood dripping from both corners of his mouth, eyes blank, not full of that wild lust that filled the eyes of the woman who now approached her from behind.

Valerie considered running for it. She had no chance.

"Quiet."

The voice was soft, but it echoed. Valerie turned.

This man was the leader. Paler than death, hair like coal, eyes solidly blood red, he stood, surveying the scene. Surveying her, with the eye of a connoisseur, and Valerie realized that her inherent practicality might save her just one more time.

All the same, in the presence of this monster (his hand was stained with _her blood_) she was weaker than she had ever felt.

"I—I don't want to die. Please," suddenly there were tears, but with an effort greater than any she had ever known, she held them back, "please don't kill me."

"You fear death." The creature said, drawing near.

_Death in this way_, she thought, but all she could do was nod. Fear held her in place as he put one hand on her face and bent forward to smell the salt of her tears. Or so she thought.

"And if I told you I could offer you life eternal? That you were never to fear death again?"

His eyes…Valerie saw…what he was offering. A life free of all restraint, the capability to use whatever methods she desired to achieve her ends…utopia and ecstasy.

Fear was overwhelmed by avarice. Baring her teeth in a feral grin, infected by the scent of blood and the power, she nodded. "I will not die," she said, gloatingly.

Dracula looked fondly on his newest daughter. "That you never shall."

The taste of her ruthlessness on his tongue was bitter chocolate, and the sensation of sheer joy sent him crossing the miles to the side of the one whose blood he most longed to taste.

In spirit, he stalked her through the rows and shelves, calling the silent question.

What do you taste like?

(New Orleans: Virgin Records)

Lucy had told her she was crazy, but Mary knew that it would be death for her to remain in that house. Everything might be falling apart around her, but she'd be damned (she shivered with the thought) before she let this _thing_ destroy her life. They were still dreams, no matter how real they felt.

She was not going to stop working and lose her home as well as her sanity, she thought, shelving CDs with a determined strength that she doubted anyone had ever directed towards the job before.

However, as the sun set and she approached the middle of her work shift, a feeling of foreboding, so strong as to be nearly corporeal, haunting her as she made her way through the tasks of the day, grew within her until she was nearly jumping out of her skin.

She was poised to place a handful of CDs on the shelves when a question sounded behind her, so loud that she _knew_ there was someone there.

"What do you taste like?"

_Oh, God,_ she screamed into her mind, _Oh, God, please not here!_

She whipped around.

_And she was standing there._

Dressed exactly as she was now, black cropped pants and her black work shirt, the mirror Mary looked superior, strong, and utterly in control…like the real Mary had not been for years. For a moment, standing in _his arms_, Mary felt an instant jealously for that strong, confident woman.

His eyes remaining on her all the while, the man drew her shadow reflection into his arms, tilting her face up to his, kissing the other her fiercely while staring at her own eyes. That gaze connected Mary to the scene more than anything could, and she felt a warmth blossom in her stomach that she could not repress.

As the man's sharp nails raked four bloody streaks across her reflection's face and licked the blood from her cheeks, she felt her breath come short, and the ache of longing grow to fever pitch. What would in any other scenario be unspeakably disgusting, at that moment she felt she would have traded anything to be in her reflection's place.

She dropped her hands limply to her sides, and the sharp sound of plastic hitting tile jerked her from the vision, and her head dropped reflexively to the floor, where the CDs lay scattered.

When she looked up again, the vision was gone.

Shame, guilt, embarrassment and…disappointment rushed through Mary so that her face flamed and her eyes welled with tears. She stopped herself from crying, but she needed to get out. Get out, get out, get out! Where none of this could hurt her.

She was in and out of the break room with her bag before she realized she should find Lucy and tell her that she was going out. When Lucy asked her why, it was impossible for her to explain, and a tear finally slipped down her face as she jerked out of Lucy's grasp and fled out the automatic doors.

There was one place where her mother had felt safe. One place.

Mary had to get to the church. And even while she was praying fervently in her head, her body still remembered the caress that had never happened, and felt the gentle and cruel hands on her face, and the cold, cold lips on hers.

Shuddering uncontrollably in the humid air, Mary was down the street and around the corner by the time her father's cab pulled up to the curb.


	5. Chapter 5

Back again, and thanks for the feedback

Back again, and thanks for the feedback. Keep it up!

(New Orleans: Cathedral)

"Excuse me," Mary couldn't keep the trembling out of her voice. "Is Father David working tonight?"

"I believe he's in the back room. Is this an emergency?" The sweet, earnest face of the nun looked troubled on her behalf.

"I—If you could please get him for me…I can't confess to anyone except him."

Though it was an unusual request, as the New Orleans Cathedral was large enough to have several priests working at hearing confession and she should not have known who was listening to her, the nun didn't ask any questions and hurried off to an area behind the sacristy. Mary, meanwhile, all strength gone, slumped down into one of the pews and tried desperately not to cry.

"Who is it?" A soft voice came echoing through the sanctuary.

"I don't know, but she asked for you specifically, and seemed very troubled."

As the voices grew closer, Mary raised her head, biting her lip furiously as a tear slid down her cheek. At least she smiled when she saw her old friend David Morrison walking towards her. It was obvious, from the way his smile lit up his face that he remembered her too.

"Mary!" he cried, waving the nun back to her duties and kneeling in front of her. "What are you doing here?"

"I—I need some help, David," the hitch in her voice still would not go away. "Can we go somewhere to talk?"

The smile faded slowly from his face. "I thought you were here to confess."

Though she knew it would give him pain, she chuckled and said, "I'm still boycotting you, remember? You should be happy, though…even though I still don't agree with the Catholic Church, I certainly believe in God, and I have personal experience now with the Devil. Can we please go somewhere to talk?"

Another tear, and David couldn't hesitate. "We'll go to one of the student classrooms."

As she followed him, she whispered, "Thank you."

The classroom was not the ideal setting for such a serious conversation, and Mary felt slightly ludicrous as she sat on one of the short, bright red plastic chairs and looked at the construction paper posters of the Lord's Prayer and snippets of the catechism. However, it was a familiar, comforting atmosphere, and with both of David's hands held between hers, she found the strength to relate the history of her dreams, how they were growing in strength, and the waking nightmare she'd had barely a half hour previous.

"I was kissing him, David. I saw myself…kissing him. And it was as real as I'm sitting here now."

Father David took a deep breath. There were teachings in the Catholic Church, prayers of protection and exorcism, that he could recommend to her, but he knew she would never accept it. Her own mother had undergone such exercises when her own nightmares refused to go away, but their failure had only led to such dementia that the woman couldn't stand it. Her suicide, though it had nothing to do with him, still was a heavy burden on his heart.

Mary had not approved of those measures, anyway, and after the death of her mother she had promised never to set foot inside the church again. After David became a priest (he'd been in seminary when her mother had died) Mary had cut off all contact with him, though they'd been close friends during the previous three years.

The simple fact that she was here, now, set off alarm bells on a massive scale. The similarity between her nightmares and the haunted sensation that her mother had always complained of as well made him uneasy. Was Mary to continue the path that her mother had walked?

David made his decision quickly. Not if he could help it.

"And you don't know this man? You've never seen him?"

Mary shook her head. "He's not a man, David. He's…"

"What?"

"You'll call me crazy. You'll say I'm dreaming, hallucinating…you'll have me locked up." Her voice was softly hysterical.

"Mary, I know you don't like this, but the Catholic Church certainly believes in demons and devils. If that's what you think he is, than I will believe you. From what you describe…and," _God help me_, "from what your mother described, I think it is highly likely."

"My mother," Mary's voice was stronger. "Did she ever tell you something like this? She never spoke to me of what she was afraid of, but she was terrified of something, anyone could see. David, what did she tell you?"

"Her confession was confidential. I am under constraint not to mention what little I know of it."

Mary nodded. "I know. I know I can't fight the overwhelming authority of the Church. I tried to fight it, once. All I ended up doing was running away."

David felt momentarily ashamed. "What do you think he is, Mary?"

"I think…I _know_ he's a demon. As to what kind, I can hardly say. I don't know if the Church extends its beliefs to include the legend created by a novelist."

"Outside of the precepts of the Church, Mary, _I'm your friend_. Tell me."

The pressure of his words and hands finally made her look him straight in the eyes.

"I think he's a vampire."

David was silent. Any sort of reaction now would scare her away forever. True, the Church had no specific method for dealing with a declaration of this nature, but if Mary believed it, how different was a parasite of the soul from a parasite of the body?

"I believe you, Mary."

She leaned forward and leaned her forehead on the soft cloth of his shoulder. "Thank God," she whispered, tears dampening his habit, "thank you, David. Thank you."

(Virgin Records)

"Lucy, where the hell is my backup up here? I thought Mary was supposed to be working tonight?" Rachel, the part time high school worker was out of her depth and knew that she'd seen Mary working the same rows. But now she was completely turned around and didn't know what had to be done.

"She had to cut out early, okay," Lucy snapped, upset at not knowing any more that that snot-nosed kid, "I'll get Mark up to help you as soon as he finishes sorting the back room. Meantime, get those carts out of the way and shelve whatever you recognize. Set up that display, too, while you're at it."

Rachel swore before turning away and jerking around the carts as though they should bear the brunt of her bad temper. Lucy was glad that she was marginally quiet about it, at least.

Not for the first time, she felt a stab of mingled ill-will and concern for her friend.

_Jesus, Mary, I hope you're okay._

Taking the escalator downstairs and tapping her fingers impatiently on the handrail, she heard the brief noise of the crowd outside penetrate the pounding hard rock coming through the speakers of the store. Virgin Records was smack in the center of downtown, and drunkards often made their way over to the store to buy the latest hit before stumbling back to the bars. She'd had to call the cops more than once on a disorderly customer, and when she heard the noise coming in, she mentally rubbed her head.

The new customers, though, looked completely in control, though oddly focused. Well, at least one of them was.

The other two wandered through the first-floor stacks, the woman (extremely attractive with a look in her eyes almost frighteningly intense) stopping to flirt with the first halfway decent-looking guy and her partner (a very good-looking guy himself) standing, stony-faced behind her.

But it was the last one who drew the eyes of every woman in the store. Even Lucy, generally cooler about such things, found her breath coming short as she drank him in. Beyond six feet, certainly, with a square muscular build that usually indicated crablike, graceless movement. Not this man. He moved smoothly and evenly, gaze sweeping the floor and catching the eyes of every single woman who stared. A confident smirk never vanished from his face. He knew this attention and reveled in it.

Eyes glancing upward towards her, he seemed almost about to pass Lucy by when something in her features seemed to catch his gaze. His smile broadened with a flash of…recognition…before he made his way to the escalator and met her at the bottom.

"I am sorry to bother you, but would you happen to know if Mary is working tonight?"

Oh, God, that voice! Lucy felt her heart beat faster and she struggled to keep her head clear as she replied, "Um, she left early…you just missed her." Surprisingly, the concern for Mary she had felt earlier was driven entirely out of her head and in its place was sudden and shocking _jealously_, vicious as sheet-lightning. She smiled, then, her most attractive smile, and flipped her hair casually, resting one hand on her slim hips. "She's not the only one on the floor tonight…that is, if you have a question about music, _I _can help you."

Offering her hand, she decided to make a hard play for it. "My name's Lucy…Lucy Westenra."

When his eyes were on her (their color seemed unstable, constantly darkening) she found herself both uncertain yet completely entranced. Somehow she knew that she was playing with something far beyond her comprehension, and that she only had the smallest chance of tearing herself away, but with her trademark recklessness, she threw that caution to the wind and smiled again at the stranger.

At first, he considered her solemnly. But when she smiled at him again, his returning one was sharp and tinged with triumph. "And such a beauty," he murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing it gently.

That single touch of lips to flesh drove Lucy to the edge. She let a small gasp escape, hoping that he hadn't heard it but knowing that he did. When he lifted his head, his eyes were so dark that they looked like the color of congealed blood.

"I…um…"

"Yes, Lucy?"

"I think Mary might have gone…home," Lucy found it difficult to speak when he still had her hand in his grip, "if you want to come and find out."

"If it is no inconvenience to you."

He was playing with her now, and Lucy recognized it. Withdrawing her hand, she felt her head clear, but her intention didn't waver. "It's no problem," she assured him, turning towards the break room. "Just give me a minute."

As she walked away, she felt her connection to the stranger tugging at her like a physical pull. Her thoughts were running riot, and not the least among them was that Mary knew this man…and she'd never told Lucy about him.

Anger took hold of Lucy. What the hell made Mary so damn special anyway? The girl was a whiny, reclusive introvert who never managed to pull her own weight. Why was this guy so hung up on her?

Well, she'd show him. She'd show them both. Tonight, _Lucy_ would be the first choice, the favored one.

Mary's whereabouts were the furthest thing from her mind as she unlocked the front door and welcomed the stranger into her house with a greedy smile on her face.

(Virgin Records/Back Room)

"And you are certain that no one knows where she is?" Van Helsing was tired, frustrated, and afraid. None of which made him very sweet to the redheaded child arrogantly chewing gum in the face of his desperate need.

"No. She cut out, and so did her roommate. Look, dude, _I'm_ the loser here. I'm working the whole floor by myself. If you're her dad, don't you know where she lives?"

Helsing bit his tongue. There was no point in speaking to this young woman any longer, and from the looks of the store, it would be quite some time before he could attract the attention of anyone more likely to serve his purposes.

Instead, he retraced his steps wearily to the front door and left the store. Scanning the street, he saw that his cab, in accordance with his wishes, was gone. There was a place to rent cars a few blocks up the street, so he'd been told. If only he could rest! But there was no time.

He shouldered his two bags and started to walk, slowly. It was only when a familiar voice sounded from behind him that he halted and turned, surprise etched on every line in his face.

"Simon?"


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry about the break

Sorry about the break. There's good news though…I've finished the first two drafts of my first novel! Huzzah! So while I break for a moment between starting on the third draft and proofreading my life away, I'll try and toss this chapter out.

(Apartment)

Mary's key clicked dully in the lock, and the lackluster sound echoed deep within her. She was so tired…all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep until she felt better, and at the moment, she felt as though even if such a thing took years, it would be time well spent.

The apartment was completely dark when she entered, and she had to fumble around for a minute or so until she caught the light switch with the pad of her forefinger. Shucking her shoes underneath the little hallway table and tossing her bag next to the doorway to her bedroom, she shuffled towards the kitchen, hoping that Lucy might have left her the last bag of decaffeinated tea.

No luck though. It was just as well.

Crossing the entryway once more, she jumped and nearly screamed when the harsh shrill of her room phone cut through the silence of the house. Hurrying so that the noise wouldn't disturb Lucy (she had gotten off of work more than an hour ago, according to her schedule) she grabbed the phone and stood in the dark, listening.

"Hello?"

"Mary?"

"Oh, Lucy…what's up? Where are you?"

"Do you think you could come upstairs? I was waiting to show you something."

Mary stared at the receiver as though she didn't quite know what to make of it. Lucy _sounded_ perfectly normal, but she had never called downstairs before…she usually just yelled.

"You're…in your room, now?"

"Uh huh." The breathy sigh on the other end of the receiver made Mary shiver…it sounded as though Lucy was drunk…or high, since she indulged in that sometimes. Much as Mary loved her, Lucy could go to excesses, sometimes, and that included her penchant towards bisexualism when she was inebriated. She had hit on Mary quite a few times when drunk…and Mary rather preferred to stay out of the way.

"Okay. Gimmie a sec."

Sighing and not looking forward to whatever pass Lucy was going to make at her this time, she steeled herself before trudging upstairs.

The sight that met her eyes was absolutely shocking.

Though the mess had been indistinguishable from downstairs, the upstairs hallway was entirely trashed. Strands of Christmas lights, torn from their tacks on the walls, dangled down in crazy lines, some strands blinking intermittently, some completely dead. The giant mirror at the end of the corridor was shattered, and Mary's stomach turned…there were droplets of blood where it had once hung.

Even Lucy's favorite pictures (a boyfriend had painted them for her) were hanging crazily from their hooks, the glass frames broken.

Irritation converted straight to worry. That blood…was Lucy all right?

Hurrying now, Mary reached the bedroom, stepping gingerly around the shattered shards of mirror at the end of the hall and scrupulously avoiding any of the blood that stained the floorboards.

Lucy was lying in bed, naked. Mary sighed.

"Lucy, are you all right?"

For all that Mary had expected her to be drunk, her friend responded with remarkable lucidity. "I'm fine, Mare. I just…wanted to talk to you."

"We've been through this before, haven't we?" Mary said, chuckling almost desperately and trying to make the situation into a joke. "What was it you called me? The most 'determined heterosexual' you'd ever met? That still hasn't changed, by the way."

Lucy grinned, teeth gleaming brightly in the blinking lights from the hallway, and throwing her covers aside, she stood and sauntered slowly towards her roommate, who stood stunned, practically hugging the doorframe.

"I know. Even if it hadn't, _you're his now_. I won't get in the way."

Mary's heart froze. "Lucy…what are you talking about?"

But the other girl's attention was now distracted, and she turned from Mary to face the window, touching the glass with an almost reverent forefinger as she spoke idly.

"I wonder now why you called them 'nightmares', Mary. They can't have been all bad, if the had him. Why didn't you share? Why couldn't you share?"

"Answer me, Luce." Mary was shivering now, almost uncontrollably. Lucy swung back from the window and faced her again. As she stood, the flesh of her back was thrown into brilliant light from the street outside, and Mary could see that it was torn and sliced almost to ribbons…the stains of blood were visible on her clean white sheets, and the scent of it in the room was almost more than Mary could stand.

"I'll tell you my answer if you tell me yours…" she sing-songed, swaying once again towards Mary. Rivulets of blood ran down the backs of her knees.

"Oh, God, we need to get you to a doctor," Mary whispered, concern forcing her forward a step, "come on, Lucy, just put some clothes on, and I'll drive you…come on…"

"I don't need a doctor," Lucy said, laughing deep in her throat, "but you could help me. Mary, would you help me? I need your help."

The other girl's breath choked in her throat, and she could hardly breathe. "Anything, Lucy. Just please tell me what's going on."

"Mary, Mary…" Lucy whispered, "always so good. Always so sweet, always so kind, so pretty…I wonder if your blood tastes as good as you are." She smiled then, and the sharp points of her canines gleamed with blood.

Mary sobbed quietly, terror and sorrow making slow tears bloom in her eyes. "Lucy…"

"Shh…he knows that I love you…he told me that I could have a little bit of you…but I had to leave the rest for him." Lucy tucked an errant curl of Mary's hair behind one ear, hand with unexpectedly sharp nails lingering against her cheek. "You won't grudge me that, Mary? Just the one bit of you I can get before he takes the rest?"

Mary shook her head, shrinking backwards from her hand. "No, no please…Lucy…"

"Don't be afraid. I was afraid, but it's nothing to fear, I won't hurt you, it won't hurt,"

The terrifying litany of Lucy's soft voice came closer and closer and Mary's eyes closed because she couldn't _stand_ it and then Lucy's hand was on her throat and caressing her collarbone and tipping her head to the right…

"Stop!"

The quick puff of air, like the sound from a gun muzzled with a silencer, was punctuated by an unholy scream and the acrid odor of burning flesh. Mary stumbled backwards as the hand around her throat released its grip and fled past the old man standing in the doorway and ran down the hall, shying back only when she saw another man at the end of the corridor.

"Simon, take her and go!"

The young man reached out and gripped her firmly around the upper arm, and Mary would have fought him were he not going the same way she was; down the hall and out the house. Thoughts of her purse didn't even cross her mind…she just had to get away from the thing that had been her best friend.

"Lucy, _Lucy_…"

"Your friend's gone," the man who held her replied, and though his voice was hard it was still not unkindly, "she's been turned."

He led her quickly to a parked car at the curb and let her into the backseat. Swinging around to the front, he let himself in and buckled up. With fingers almost numb, Mary did the same.

"What do you mean, 'turned'? What the bloody hell is going on?" her voice cracked as she swore, and though she was still frightened, anger warred with fear until she felt ready to be sick with the emotion.

"I mean, she's become a vampire," he replied, "and if the fact that vampires even exist is news to you then don't worry…you're in good company." He managed a weak smile that Mary couldn't even try to return. The passenger side door opened and the old man jumped in the car, commanding the other to get them away from here. He carried an antique muzzle-loading gun of some kind, and in one fist he held a long silver colored bullet, red and slippery with blood.

"The seminary we passed on the way here, Simon; take us to that. One of my old friends is the caretaker of the library there, and he will let us in."

"Whoever you two are," Mary was now almost screaming, "would one of you please tell me what's going on?"

"I am sorry, Mary," the old man turned around to face her, "I tried…" and emotion overwhelmed his voice and he could go no further.

There was something about his face, Mary thought, that tugged a gentle cord in her memory. Something about the deep set eyes and the heavy jaw…

The picture that stood on her mother's mantle…the picture of her parents standing side-by-side and smiling, taken long before she was born…oh, God…

"Father?"

His face settled into a mass of ancient frown lines before he nodded solemnly. "I am so sorry, Mary."

"What are you doing here? And what happened to Lucy? Please, just tell me!" Her voice was so rough that she could barely even croak the last of her request.

"I am here to try and save you from an evil I have helped to keep hidden from the world this last century. He is Dracula, not myth, captured by myself and several others, just at the end of the nineteenth century."

Mary gave a dry chuckle, not uncolored by hysteria. "And you're my father? When you'd have to be nearly one hundred and fifty years old?"

"You know I am your father, Mary. I can either be lying, insane, or telling the truth, and considering the dreams you have had all your life and the evidence witnessed this very night, the first two options are unlikely at best…believe me, I wish that they were not."

"Well, what are you doing here? Dracula has escaped?"

"He has. And…he is trying to find _you_."

"Me? _Me_?" Mary couldn't breathe. "Why?"

"Because…through my folly, I fell in love with your mother, and I had already been forced to use Dracula's blood to expand my own life in order to continue to try and discover a way to defeat him. I passed on his blood…to you."

There was nothing she could say.

"Understand this: I never meant to put you in danger! No one could have foreseen that he could have escaped."

"No…even without escaping, I've known about him…" Mary said quietly, almost as though to herself. "You never asked my mother, did you? About her nightmares, and her fears and worries. You never asked her why she was so afraid of you, did you?"

"I know why your mother feared. She felt my connection to him, and felt yours as well. She took you from me to keep you safe…I have never quarreled with her decision in that regard."

"We're here." Simon's declaration cut sharply through their abrupt reunion.

The night about Mary seemed thick and oppressive, full of hidden figures in the shadows, ready to sink into her with fangs of polished bone. The rest of the night, though, passed strangely without incident, and she slept on two old leather armchairs until dawn almost made her cry with released tension.


	7. Chapter 7

Dawn made her cry, but there was no one to share the emotion with. Mary found a quiet corner in the seminary's library, not daring to stray far from her estranged father or his quiet companion, and wept silently to herself, head buried in her raised knees.

It was all too much. The horror of last night, the ruin and wreck of her home and her roommate and best friend, contrasted with the prosaic scene before her now. Books, their cozy leather and paper odor, and morning sunlight streaming from high gothic windows. Her father's friend, an older priest with a wrinkled, grim face, brought her a cup of burnt, strong coffee, not commenting on her dirty, wrinkled clothes or the bloodstain on her tank top from where Lucy had taken hold of her.

The coffee burned her throat but she swallowed it all, feeling the heat and pain burn away some of the cobwebs in her mind and evaporated her tears. Setting the cup down beside her, Mary dried her eyes and face on the hem of her shirt, and stood up.

Whatever was happening, whatever was going on, she had to meet it head on. She had been terrified in her dreams for far too long; if things were coming to a head on the physical plane, perhaps she could bring an end to the horror that had shadowed her for her entire life, and had claimed the life of her mother. Her father—how could she keep calling him that after what he'd done to her?—was here now. However she felt about him, he must have answers.

Though she still felt the fear from last night as a bitter taste under her tongue, her heart beat faster with the promise of her long-held questions finally being answered. Mary squared her shoulders. At least that was something.

Her father was still asleep when she returned to the lounge area where they had made their makeshift—and completely unnecessary, in her case—beds last night, but the young man who accompanied him was awake, head pillowed in his hands, a half-empty coffee cup beside them. When Mary set down her own empty cup, the sound roused him, and he looked at her, offering an uncertain half-smile.

She returned the expression, but it hurt. She let it drop.

"Who are you, again?"

"Oh," the young man said, standing and quickly offering his hand, "I'm Simon, your father's assistant. Matthew—Abraham—Mr. Van Helsing has been like a father to me too."

"At least he was one to someone," Mary said, feeling her lips twist bitterly. She turned away so she wouldn't have to see the disappointed puppy-dog expression in Simon's eyes. Though she had never truly felt the lack of her father's love—her mother had taken her away when she was quite young—she couldn't stop the feeling of jealousy that surged inside her when she thought of the shameful secret that kept her father from being a part of her life.

Even that feeling confused her. Her father had done her a favor by ignoring his own better judgment in loving her mother; without that poor judgment, after all, she would never have been born.

Then again, if she had never been born then she wouldn't be in this horrible situation and neither would Lucy. Lucy…

The grief was so sudden and sharp that it drove her to a seat beside Simon at the table. She swallowed hard to stifle the tears.

"What does it mean? To be a vampire? What will it mean for Lucy?"

Simon shook his head, staring down at his hands. "I don't…really know. Up until yesterday, I had no idea they existed either. I think I learned about them just a few hours before you did, actually. All I knew was that Matthew—Mr. Van Helsing—needed some help. I followed him here and caught up with him when he was trying to get to you. I had no idea…"

His voice trailed away. Though most of Mary's pity was reserved for herself, she put her hand over Simon's and squeezed.

"It sounds like he means a lot to you."

"He does," Simon said, tossing a quick look over his shoulder before his voice hardened, "and that's what makes this all the harder. I trusted him…I loved him, and all this time he was keeping this secret from me. I never knew a thing."

"I'm sure he did it to protect you," Mary said, grasping at straws, knowing that her words wouldn't heal the wound that her father—dammit—had inflicted on the man, "he never told my mother either."

"I couldn't tell anyone," the weak voice from behind them startled Mary and Simon both, "it was my burden to bear. To tell anyone would to have been to invite trouble and misery."

Mary could comprehend the shock that prompted Simon's gasp as they turned to face Van Helsing. Even though she had only studied his face briefly before they collapsed in fitful rest at the seminary, she could tell that he had changed radically over night. His hair was now an ever-thinning shock of pure white, and his skin looked like a crumpled linen napkin. Even his bearing seemed more feeble; his hands were gnarled with arthritis and shaking slightly; this was not the same man who had fired the bolts of silver that saved her life last night.

"Good God, Matthew," Simon cried, leaping up to help his friend to a seat at the table, "what's happened to you?"

"Time is finally catching up with me, Simon," Van Helsing said, leaning heavily on the man as he took his seat, "my borrowed time is fast running out."

"Borrowed time?" Mary asked, curiosity prompting her to speak even though all she wanted was to slink back to her former quiet, undemanding—if sleep-deprived—life. Somehow, questioning the situation made it all the more real, and she could not delude herself that there would be simple answers to any of her questions.

Van Helsing's eyes flitted to hers, then away again, as though the contact hurt him. "You remember how I explained that I was using Dracula's blood to extend my own life?"

She nodded. "You mentioned it, but never fully explained. How does that even work? How long have you been using it? And how long can you go without it?"

Simon asked the last important question. "And what happens when the influence of the blood runs out?"

"Whatever dark magic it is in his blood that enables Dracula to remain alive over the centuries can be passed from person to person. My colleagues and I discovered this during our earliest hunts," the old man's voice grew distant as he entered into his memory. "One of my dear friends was injured badly in an altercation from one of the demons, but remained in the fight long enough to help extinguish the beast. Some of the vampire's blood washed over his wounds, and before we could reach him to attempt to help him, his cuts were already healed by the influence of the blood."

Mary shivered. What a gruesome discovery!

Van Helsing resumed. "It was not until later that we suspected that same healing power could apply to the aging process. In fact, it was during the capture of Dracula himself. One of the silver spears that we used to capture him went through Dracula's body and pierced my shoulder. His blood mingled with mine."

"The day after, I noticed that my hair was darker, thicker, and that I felt stronger, more vibrant. My rheumatism was less troublesome, and I began to suspect that the blood was fighting my body's natural inclination to age. I took," and here he paused, rallying his strength and short breath to finish the confession, "I used a leech and took some of Dracula's blood into myself to verify my suspicion. It worked, and I have been using it in increasing amounts ever since."

Mary sighed and shook her head. "Why do it? Why keep yourself alive to guard a creature that you had captured?"

"No one else knew the truth of what he was after my original colleagues died. No one else suspected the reality of the vampire curse upon this earth. It was my responsibility," his voice faded and his body shook with dry, wracking coughs.

"Clearly the strength of the blood is fading," Simon said, still pressing for an answer, "Matthew…what happens when it runs out?"

A beat of silence passed between them all.

"I suspect that I will continue to do as I am doing," the man's voice was wry. "I imagine I will die."

Mary stood abruptly, almost throwing herself backwards from the table. She didn't know her father, had no reason to like him, but for some reason, the idea of his death was horrible to contemplate. She put her hand against the end of one of the bookcases to steady herself as she listened to the conversation continuing behind her.

Simon's voice sounded as shaken as she felt. "What do we do, then? We have to get you more blood!"

"No!" Van Helsing barked. "No. My life is immaterial—let it end, if necessary! What we have to do is figure out how to contain Dracula. I spent my life in the pursuit of eliminating him and his kind from this earth…I will not see them return before I die."

"Why contain Dracula?" Mary asked, turning "Why can't we just kill him?"

Van Helsing sighed and shook his head. "There is no way to end his life. Believe me, I have tried. Silver, stakes, holy water, sunlight…everything that works to eliminate his offspring, he manages to survive! The icons of Christianity, which hurt and repulse an ordinary vampire, merely fuel him with a rage that makes him stronger. I devoted my life to finding a way to destroy him and eliminate his threat, but there is simply no way."

"And he wants me…" Mary swallowed, whet her lips, "he wants me because I'm like him?"

"Born with his blood," Van Helsing nodded, his voice low, "but not like the rest of his children. His blood is inherent in you, inextricable from your very being."

"That's what she meant," Mary said, leaning against the bookcase. "Lucy said I was his, and that's what she meant. I _am_. I belong to him."

"No," Simon's voice was strong and sure. "No you don't, Mary. I'm not going to let him take you. He will not hurt you."

"Well, we can't spend the rest of our lives in a church!" Mary cried. "We have to do something. Father will die without more blood, my best friend is one of his minions, and we all have lives to lead…we have to do something."

"And our lives will never be safe while he roams free." Van Helsing concluded, finally brave enough to meet Mary's eyes. She stared at him, tracing the familiarity of her own features in his face. It was a strange sensation, especially when she saw that he was doing the same thing.

"So we catch him again," Simon said, oblivious to the awkward tension in the air about him, "we trap him and kill the children he's made, then put him on a plane and head back to London. This time we'll make sure he never escapes."

Mary scoffed. "I know that I am new to the whole concept of vampires, but I'm almost certain it won't be that easy."

"It will not be easy," Van Helsing said before Simon could retort, "but it is in essence what we must do. I have hunted Dracula before, and for many years. He will be anticipating my strategies, so we cannot use those, but I have brought many tools that he is not familiar with. These may give us an advantage."

"Do you know why it is that the traditional methods don't work on him?" Mary asked, coming back to sit at the table. "What is he that makes him so special?"

Van Helsing sighed. "I have long wondered that myself. My initial suspicion is that he is the first vampire, the source of all the others. However, I have never been able to discover exactly where he came from—what magic or power created him, at what time. Without that information, we are as powerless as ever."

"There must be a way to find out," Mary whispered.

Van Helsing caught the expression in her eyes and shook his head, hand extending across the table to grasp at hers. "Mary, no…"

"But I could find out," she insisted, disregarding his unspoken warning. "He wants me, we know that. I could be bait, I could find out what I can, and then the two of you could set up an ambush. Then if I've discovered his secret, we can put an end to this once and for all."

"It's an unnecessary risk," Van Helsing insisted, his voice stronger than Mary anticipated, given his appearance, "we can capture him and take him back, as Simon suggests. I have done all this to keep you safe… I will not have you placing yourself in danger!"

Even Simon was shaking his head. "Mary, it's unnecessary, just like Matthew says. We can just capture him and make everything the way it was."

"Nothing will be the way it was!" Mary cried, slamming her fists on the table. "Don't you understand? He's always here!" She placed her hand on her chest. "Always. Even when you had him locked up, he was there. And here," she moved her hand to her forehead. "It won't end if you catch him. It will end for the two of you, but not for me. I can't…" her voice gave out, "I can't live like this anymore, constantly in fear. I _won't_ live like this anymore. I will not fear the dark, anymore."

They were both silent, looking at her. She stared them down.

"Father," she said, stretching her hand across the table to meet Van Helsing's, "you've never been much of a father to me. But I need your help. I need this to end. My best friend is gone. My life will always be different, now. If you cannot be a part of it for whatever reason you choose, help me now. Help me, and then leave if you have to. I won't hold you. But you owe me this. _Help_ me."

A lump of tears stopped her from speaking, and she swallowed it back down.

Van Helsing cleared his throat and looked down, faded blue eyes shrouded with tears.

"Very well, my daughter. Mary. I will help you."


End file.
